


it wasn't your fault

by themoongirl



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21516238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoongirl/pseuds/themoongirl
Summary: Sander has lost track of how many times Robbe has said this simple phrase to him.It wasn’t your fault. It’s not your fault. I love you and nothing that happened to either of us was your fault. I understand. I know. It wasn’t your fault.
Relationships: Robbe Ijzermans/Sander Driesen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 207





	it wasn't your fault

Sander has never been the type to move around in his sleep.

More specifically, he’s never been one to appear like he’s having a hard time when he, in fact, is. In more cases than just sleep. He’s learned to hide how he feels. Growing up with parents who hate any kind of inconvenience will do that to you. You learn to hide anything and everything. You learn to bottle.

His body learned this as well. He knows how to walk confidently at school the day after his dad pinned him to a wall and screamed in his face. He knows how to move to protect his body from oncoming hits and how to smile as he leaves the house. 

And when he has a nightmare, his body knows how to keep still.

Sander is staring at the ceiling trying to stifle the gasps coming out of his mouth. His hands are clenched into fists, his entire body tense as he tries to slow his racing heartbeat. The dream had felt so real. Fists were coming from every angle and the attacker turned from a man in his twenties to a man in his forties. A man who resembled his father.

Sander summons the strength to turn his head and feels something wash over him when he sees Robbe’s sleeping face. Robbe is sleeping on his side, one hand resting beside his face and he looks so cozy, and peaceful, and Sander suddenly feels like the weight of the world has been lifted. By one face. By one boy. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.

Because Sander has never felt this way for someone. Thinking about it makes him cringe, the absolute sappiness of it all. But Robbe makes him sappy. Robbe made him sappy from the first moment Sander laid eyes on him in the moonlight. See? Sappy.

So Sander watches him sleep. He watches the rise and fall of his chest and the way his nose twitches every so often. Sander runs a gentle hand through Robbe’s hair once before bringing it back to prop his own head up. He doesn’t want to risk Robbe waking up to him in this state. So he just watches.

Sander thinks about the time in the cafe when he had run into Robbe and Jens, how tired Robbe had looked. Deep, dark bags rested under his eyes and he looked like he had been through hell. Hell that Sander had put him through. Sander’s heart squeezes at the thought. Sander has to work hard every day to not feel like a burden on Robbe’s life, to not feel like he is making Robbe’s every day worse. He’s a work in progress, he has to tell himself.

Robbe whimpers, and Sander’s eyes fall on his face again, immediately sitting up. Robbe’s peaceful expression is gone, replaced with one of worry and hurt. Sander stills, hoping it will pass, but Robbe buries his face further into the pillow and his hands start pulling the sheets into his fists. His fists that are shaking.

Sander places a hand on Robbe’s shoulder and gently nudges. “Robbe, hey, angel, wake up.”

Robbe looks like he’s in even more pain, and Sander feels panicked.

“Robbe, please, c’mon, it’s a dream,” He says louder. “C’mon.”

Robbe gasps as his eyes shoot open and he abruptly sits up. His eyes don’t look fully there, his expression far away, until his eyes find Sander’s.

“Shit,” He exhales, burying his face in his hands. “Shit.”

“Come here,” Sander says gently, pulling Robbe close to him so Robbe is sitting on his lap. Sander cradles him closely. “I got you.”

They sit in silence while Robbe’s breathing calms down. Robbe nudges closer into Sander’s neck as Sander is running his fingers through Robbe’s soft hair and kissing the side of his head every few minutes. Sander only speaks when he feels Robbe’s heartbeat slow.

“Better?” He asks.

Robbe nods. “It was… we were in the alley again.”

Sander freezes, but only for a moment, hoping Robbe doesn’t notice his obvious reaction.

Robbe looks up at him, his eye bags looking dark again. Sander stares at them, his heart squeezing, his brain whispering _your fault your fault your fault._

“It’s good to talk about it, my therapist said-“ Robbe begins.

“-I know,” Sander interrupts. “I’m sorry. You know I’m- I’m trying.”

Robbe sits up straighter in Sander’s lap, his gaze piercing. “I know you’re trying. You know I’m proud of you.”

Sander’s voice is caught in his throat. He feels like even more of a failure because it’s Robbe that woke up from the nightmare, it’s Robbe who should be comforted, not the other way around.

“Sander?” Robbe asks.

“Yeah,” Sander’s voice comes out croaked.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Sander has lost track of how many times Robbe has said this simple phrase to him. _It wasn’t your fault. It’s not your fault. I love you and nothing that happened to either of us was your fault. I understand. I know. It wasn’t your fault._

“I just can’t…” Sander clears his throat. “I’m not there yet.”

Robbe tilts Sander’s chin up and kisses him slowly and gently. Sander closes his eyes and melts into the kiss. It’s a kiss that says it’s all going to be okay. 

When Robbe pulls away, Sander takes a moment before opening his eyes.

“I, uh, I had a nightmare too,” Sander feels weird saying it. He’s never talked about his nightmares before, never had someone to listen. That kind of vulnerability has never been welcomed.

“The alley?” Robbe asks, cupping Sander’s face in his hand and stroking his cheek with his thumb.

Sander nods. “Kind of. It switched. From, well, from one of the guys who beat us up to… to my dad.”

Robbe’s eyes burn into Sander’s soul. He doesn’t say anything more, inviting Sander to keep talking.

But Sander can’t. Simply saying that he had a nightmare about his dad makes him feel like he’s said too much. So he just rests his forehead on Robbe’s shoulder, and Robbe understands, he always understands, and they fall back onto the pillows.

They hold each other. Sander wonders if this is what they mean when they say to find someone who understands you, every inch of you, without you having to say anything. Robbe is cuddled into Sander’s neck, one arm across Sander’s chest. Although Sander holds Robbe, it feels like Robbe is transmitting some sort of energy into Sander’s veins that says _it’s okay, i’m here, you only need to talk when you want to._

Because the first time Sander ever broke down over his parents it had been when Sander and Robbe argued about talking to each other. Robbe had felt like Sander was bottling far too much, starting with when they got beat up, and it wasn’t until Sander felt something snap in him that he really cried. He cried because he didn’t know how to talk about his feelings. He had always wanted to but he couldn’t. He knew he was damaged because of it, and he knew he was scared, but there was barrier that he didn’t know how to break down. All he knew was that he was fucking scared about what happened to them in the alley, and there had been a moment he thought he was going to die, and that Robbe was going to die, and he wanted to scream and cry and break things but he just couldn’t.

So he cried because it all became too much. And Robbe had understood.

Because Robbe always understood.

So as they lay there drifting off, Sander feels a few tears escape his eyes. He wipes at them, and Robbe squeezes harder. Not pushing him, not saying anything, just silent understanding.

And the tears feel good. 

He never thought tears could feel good.


End file.
